


We all hurt a little sometimes

by FancifulRivers



Series: faded morning glories and hopes for a better future [5]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Disabled Character, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Past Child Abuse, Past Child Neglect, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 19:02:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5677072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancifulRivers/pseuds/FancifulRivers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chara has a flashback. Chara runs away.</p>
<p>Somebody comes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We all hurt a little sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Undertale.

It's dumb.

It's dumb because you're not with them anymore, you're here with Mom and Dad (sometimes) and Sans and Papyrus and Frisk and Asriel. You get breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and there are no holes in the toes of your shoes or ragged patches in your jeans. Your elbows aren't bruised and your hair is brushed (or at least, you have the  _option_ , even if you don't always get around to it and truthfully, Frisk and Asriel have to coax you into doing it, but it's the thought that counts). The scratches that cover your wrists are faded white scrawls and even when they aren't, they are barely more than irritation, shavings of skin and reddened lines.

It's dumb but it doesn't matter, because you're the one who's in a park you don't recognize, shivering under the light of a half moon, in nothing but your pajamas and socks. You wake up from a nightmare and you don't know what it is about the bathroom sink, but you panic. Maybe it's the fluorescent lighting brightening the room, or the particular way your cup clinks against the porcelain. You blink and you think you see blood. You don't, but you don't know that, not for sure, and you want to get away. You _need_ to get away.

It's not until you look around and realize that you have no idea where you are that what's real and what's not separate out in your head. You left your crutches in your bedroom (of course) and now your legs and feet are pulsing with pain, radiating up your back (also of course). You're freezing. Your phone is charging on your nightstand and you're completely, utterly alone.

"Fuck," you whisper, and you blame the wetness in your eyes on the exertion.

It's a nice park, you think, hobbling toward the benches. You don't want to sit on one (too obvious a silhouette, people notice those), but you think maybe you can tuck yourself against one and use it as a support for your back. It works and you sigh a little in relief. There are trees on the outskirts, and a playground not too far from you. If you squint hard enough, you can make out the outline of swings, a slide, some kind of jungle gym. 

If the sun was out, you think you could probably make your way back. Or ask someone. You doubt you could actually tell anyone that you're lost, but the pretense is kind of nice. It's different in the dark. You shiver, arms wrapped around your knees for warmth.

It's too familiar, is the thing. You remember careening down a hole. Golden flowers break your fall, but that's not saying much. You remember pain and tears you didn't want to let fall. You remember calling out for help and immediately wishing you could snatch the words back. 

You don't think Asriel is going to show up in this park.

You don't even know why the thought of blood spattered on the sink makes you feel so ill anyway. It was so long ago. It doesn't matter anymore. You don't care about your old body's blood, dripping down a drain. When you looked in the mirror back then, your eyes were hollow. You wonder what they look like now.

Footsteps crunch, somewhere nearby, and you cringe, wondering if you can fit under the bench. You're afraid to move. What if it's a police officer? What if it's not? You swallow hard. The goosebumps chilling your skin have nothing to do with the temperature.

If you had your knife, you'd feel okay, but you don't, all you have are your bitten fingernails and your teeth. You have to get too close to someone for these to be effective. 

"Chara?" a whisper carries through the park, and you jump, nearly smashing your head on the bench, before you realize the voice is familiar.

"Are you there?"

"Yes," you squawk, trying to scramble up and falling down again for your pains. Rocks scrape your palms and blood trickles down your shin, but you don't care. The footsteps speed up and you see Asriel  _and_ Frisk burst out of the trees. Asriel's in a robe three sizes too big for him, and Frisk is in their pajamas too, hair sleep-tousled and eyes half-shut. Their cell phone is clasped tightly in one hand, you can see, and embarrassment burns in your cheeks.

"How did you?" you question them, and Frisk shrugs.

"It was Asriel," Frisk says, intent on dialing. "He just knew where to go. Woke up and said you were gone."

"Something felt wrong," Asriel tells you and you can't see it, but you bet he's blushing under that fur. "Also I looked out the window and saw you booking it down the street."

"Oh," you say. You don't know what else to say. Asriel opens up both sides of his robe and folds you and Frisk into it. Now you're almost painfully warm, but you don't care, because you're not alone.

"Mom?" Frisk asks, once the phone picks up. "We're- I don't know where we are." They stop, looking up at you and Asriel in confusion.

"Heywood Park," Asriel tells them. 

"We're at Heywood Park," Frisk repeats into the receiver. "We'll explain at home. Can you pick us up?" You rest your head on Asriel's shoulder, barely listening to the rest of the conversation, until Frisk looks up and smiles. 

"Mom's gonna get us," Frisk tells you. You like the sound of it.


End file.
